The Triskel
by JacquiT
Summary: Piercings and noserings and tattoos, oh my! A brief, modernized retelling of Austen's masterpiece.
1. Chapter 1

The Triskel

"_She's really no different than you,"_ he had said.

He had said it six months ago, but the words still rang in Lizzy Bennet's ears. _"No different than what you do with your mom."_

She sat on a bench with her coffee, pondering Washington Avenue. In front of her was the University of Minnesota, where she had graduated from. Behind her was Fairview-University Medical Center, where she worked as an RN in the ER.

"_She's got you so far from where you wanted to go, you don't even realize you're lost."_

Lost . . . that was a good way to put it. Lost in a city she knew like the back of her hand; lost in a hospital she could draw blueprints of. She _was_ lost.

Yet, she was content to be that way. She was now, anyway. It was who she was, and at present, she was neither willing nor inclined to do anything about it.

She only wished she had someone to talk to. It had been hard since she broke up with Richard. Her cousins Jane and Chas Bingley, both doctors, were always there for her, of course, for any reason, and their two young children provided a lively distraction when she needed cheering up, but it was simply not the same as having an intimate relationship with a man.

For almost a year, Richard had been that man. He was cocky and arrogant at times, but he was also handsome, charming, and a good snuggler. The relationship was rocky, but aside from her cousins, he had been all she had.

She had been telling Richard one night about a particular patient of hers – a hooker who found herself beaten rather badly, but who refused to reveal any details. "She was so pretty," she had mused to Richard, snuggled against his chest on the couch in her meager apartment. She wondered out loud what had happened to the woman to turn her in the direction she was going and whether she might now turn around.

"How do you know she was a hooker?" Richard had asked.

"Officer Wickham brought her in," she replied. "He's arrested her a couple of times, he said." She paused then, pensive. "I just wonder, you know?"

"Some might say the same about you," Richard had replied, and then the harsh words came.

"What do you mean?"

"Your mom flirts with you a little, makes an empty promise to make you dinner, and as soon as she has your check in her hand, it's Splitsville until she's spent all of it and needs more. You're no different than the lonely guy who needs affection so much he pays for it."

Lizzy looked at him, horrified. "I cannot believe you just said that."

"Well, it's true," he had said, unaffected by the fact that her hurt and anger were written plainly on her face. "I know she called you this afternoon, and without even having to ask I know what she wanted. How much will it be this time, Lizzy? Three hundred? Eight – maybe fifteen, like last time?"

Lizzy paused, trying to collect herself. "Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know," he said dismissively. "It's been pent up for a while. What does it matter?"

"You couldn't come up with a more constructive way to bring this up than blindsiding me with it? You don't think that maybe I'm a little sensitive about this situation?"

"That only proves that you know you're doing something stupid – not to mention dysfunctional."

"Dysfunctional, Richard?"

"Yes, Lizzy," he had said condescendingly, "you're dysfunctional. You're going to give her all that money and all you're going to get is a load of crap you think is affection."

"This coming from a man whose parents buy his affection."

"My parents don't buy my affection, they just show it that way. It's all they know and it isn't the damn same because my parents do love me. Your mother is just using you. That hooker isn't doing anything you don't do with your mom."

Then it had been Lizzy's turn to be harsh, and she did it with a slap across his cheek with the back of her hand. It had been the last she had seen of Richard.

She would eventually change the way she dealt with her mother, but she didn't want to give up her sisters, so things lay the same way they had before her fight with Richard. It didn't bother Lizzy much, with the exception of the loneliness she felt when she crawled under the covers each night.

The thing that stung more than his absence was the fact that she knew that he was essentially right. Ever since her father died it had been the same. _Lizzy, we need money so the girls can have new school clothes,_ or _Christmas just won't be the same this year . . . we haven't got the means for gifts,_ or _If Lizzy wouldn't be so selfish and help us a little more, then maybe Lydia could go to that concert._

Sitting on the bench as a cool September breeze caressed her face, Lizzy laughed a little. _And I just did it again,_ she thought. _I just handed her a check for fifteen hundred dollars._ She couldn't even remember what her mother had said it was for. Lydia and Kitty's cheerleading, Mary's piano lessons, clothes, rent _. . . who cares?_ she thought. Then her mother had kissed her cheek and promised to make her dinner early on Sunday and urged her to invite a friend over, too.

_And if I actually went, there would be no dinner._ Lizzy sipped her coffee again. It was one of two luxuries she allowed herself, if one considered one's own apartment and a visit to the coffee shop every day luxuries. Lizzy did, even though it was only a small coffee and the apartment was only the basement of a professor's home near campus. It was small and Lizzy didn't have much in the way of furniture, but it was clean and dry and quiet, and it was hers. She didn't even own a car.

_And yet I'm selfish._

Lizzy shook her head. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, and let her mind wander a moment. It was noisy that day on Washington Avenue; Lizzy liked it that way. Surprisingly, it helped her think, and she really had something to think about.

One of the people she saw most often in the ER was a Minneapolis police officer named George Wickham. He was assigned to hospital security – not the kind of assignment he had been used to, but it was a job with the department and he could not ask for much else. She knew that the last eight years or so had not been very kind to Officer Wickham. She knew it had been his own doing, but she knew how hard he had worked to change and forgive himself for what he'd done. She sincerely hoped what they had talked about last night didn't have anything to do with his guilt.

She knew most people would have agreed to Wickham's scheme, but she couldn't. Above all things Lizzy loathed deception, and this was deception pure and simple.

Billy Collins was the triage nurse who usually worked her shift. He was a simpering, toadying moron who was in desperate need of a Stairmaster and a bottle of Selsun Blue. She knew he gossiped and she knew he was self-righteous, but he didn't bother her and so she wouldn't bother him.

Wickham's claim was that Billy was in league with a social worker at the Hennepin County Department of Human Services named Catherine. He had told Lizzy that he suspected that whenever children were admitted to the ER and Billy felt that there was reason to suspect abuse or neglect, Billy would call Catherine, who would intervene.

"Think about it, Lizzy," he had pleaded with her. "You know I'm right. How else could she know when to come in? Even if one of the docs called DHS, they wouldn't call her. They see her too much around here."

"It's none of my business, Wick," she protested. "I'm not here to stick my nose in. I'm just here to work."

"You know that kid that burned himself on the stove last week was just an accident."

"But what if it wasn't, Wick?"

"It _was_, Lizzy. Come on."

"And what would either Billy or Catherine be gaining?" asked Lizzy. "Makes no sense."

"Hey, you've seen Catherine around here enough to know that she thrives on power, and you know Billy. He does that weird submissive thing with her – it's gross . . . and _wrong_."

Officer Wickham was right, but still, Lizzy pondered, checking her watch, Catherine was doing her job. Whether she was taking it to extremes or not was her supervisor's business, not Lizzy's, and if Billy was doing what Officer Wickham thought he was, that was up to Billy's supervisor to correct as well.

However, he had one final thought to offer to Lizzy, and he did so with a peck on her cheek. "You're just giving your mom money right now, but consider what she might do if you had a child of your own. She tells you you're not good enough now and you bust your rump. You only have to be strong for yourself. What if you had to be a parent, too? What if you were a single parent – or with someone, even – and you did everything you knew to do to raise your child, and you were constantly beaten down and told that it wasn't good enough . . . what then, Liz?"

"What then, indeed," she said aloud, and finished off her coffee. Rising, she located a trash receptacle and tossed her cup in. She went to work and found Officer Wickham, and asked him what he wanted her to do.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	2. Chapter 2

"Where's my brother?"

Georgiana Darcy huffed as she reached the top step, thereby entering the tattoo shop where her brother Will worked. It was on the second floor of a building located on Washington Avenue, on the University of Minnesota's main campus and a block or two away from Fairview-University Medical Center. One of his colleagues popped his head up from his work. "Hi, George," he greeted. "Will's not here."

"Good. Can you look at this, Pete?" She turned around and pulled up the back of her shirt.

Pete looked up. He couldn't see what she wanted him to look at through the little window that allowed people to watch him work from his room, but it didn't matter; he was busy. "Does the buzzing needle and the human being in my room not clue you in to the fact that I'm working?" he asked in reply with some exasperation. "Get Owen to look at it."

"Owen!" she called, "c'mere!"

"What's the problem?" he asked as he walked out from his room.

"Look." Georgiana turned and pulled up her shirt again.

"Holy shit," popped out of Owen' mouth when he saw his friend's sister's back. "What the hell?"

"Is it bad?"

"Yeah," replied Owen. "You better see a doctor."

"No! I can't go to a doctor. Will'd find out. Plus, you know how I am about doctors."

"Deal with it, George, and go to a doctor and get that taken care of."

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes," replied Owen, who heard footsteps behind him, but didn't turn around in enough time to prepare himself for the verbal outburst that assailed his ears.

"What the hell is this?!"

Georgiana jumped at the sound of her brother's voice, and Owen cursed.

"I'm working!" came Pete's voice from the other room.

Without looking up from his sister's back, Will Darcy apologized. Her pink hair twisted into twin braids at the sides of her head, Georgiana cringed as her brother inspected her back.

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?" His voice was strained and he had to concentrate to keep it down. "I told you that you couldn't get one 'till you were eighteen. You're only sixteen."

"I know, Will . . . I'm sorry." He touched her back gingerly; she sucked her breath in painfully. Her eyes teared up, but not just from the pain. She knew she had sorely disappointed her brother. He swore all the time when she wasn't around – a silly practice, since Georgiana didn't scruple to hold her tongue around her brother – but he _never_ swore around her.

"What fucking moron did this to you? You're a minor, for God's sake."

"I'm not a little girl!" she protested, getting upset. "I've got a brain and can make my own decisions."

"Bad ones, apparently," he snapped back, "and you _are_ a minor." A thought occurred to him, and the muscles in his shoulders tensed. "Did you see Dave Wickham for this?"

"Will, I-"

"Answer my question!" he stormed. "Did you go to Wickham?"

"Yes," she replied, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Will."

"How long have you had this?"

"Since Thursday."

"Did he use a clean needle?"

"I don't know."

"Have you been taking care of it?"

"Yes."

"That son of a bitch. How did he take the ink?"

"I don't know," wailed Georgiana.

"Well, Jesus, George, don't you pay attention to anything?" he barked.

"What does it matter?"

"Because," he snapped, "if he took the ink from the bottle instead of a sterile cup, then the ink is dirty, too, which makes it worse!" He touched his sister's skin again, gingerly, and sighed. "I have someone coming in for a touch up in a few minutes. When I'm done we're going to the clinic."

"But Will-"

"No buts, Georgiana." He removed his coat and tossed it over a chair. "I know you hate doctors, but you did this to yourself. Owen, would you get her some water, please?" Owen did as his friend asked. Will turned around and headed for his own room to get ready for his customer.

When she came in she seemed more interested in flirting with Will than in her tattoo, which was placed in a very intimate area of her person. By the time he was finally done with her, it was past eleven and the urgent care clinic was closed. Rather than letting Georgiana off the hook, however, he announced that they'd go to the emergency room. Before she knew it she was sitting on a creaky table covered in sterile white paper behind bluish curtains while doctors and nurses hustled around beyond them.

They waited for what seemed like eons. Several times Georgiana insisted that it would be better to wait until morning when the urgent care clinic opened; Will insisted several times that she stay put. Thoughts of old, scary nurses and drill-sergeant-like doctors swirling through her mind, Georgiana fidgeted through her pain as she watched Will flip disinterestedly through a magazine. When the curtains swished back, she jumped.

The nurse was tall and young and dark-haired, and she though smiled, it was obvious it was forced. "Georgiana?" she queried, her voice soft.

"Yes," said the girl herself, her nervousness not helped.

"I'm Lizzy," she said as she set a file down behind Georgiana. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm okay," she replied timidly as Lizzy took her vitals.

"Looks like you have an infection?" She snapped on some gloves as Georgiana nodded. "Can you show me, please?" She lifted her shirt, indicating that it was on her back. "When did you get this tattoo?"

"I got it Thursday."

"And you think the infection is from the tattoo?"

"Yes."

Lizzy looked up at the man sitting with her patient. Both ears were pierced, and since he had removed his coat and was wearing a sleeveless shirt – one with Jimi Hendrix's face imprinted on it, no less – she saw that there was an elaborate tribal-looking design tattooed around each bicep. "Did you do this?" she asked pointedly.

"Absolutely not," he replied, offended.

She looked back at Georgiana's infection. "Are you a minor, Georgiana?"

"Yes. I'm sixteen."

"And who are you?" she asked of the man, her look not softening.

Will grimaced. "I'm her brother."

Lizzy looked up, a brow cocked. "Where are your parents?" she asked, her tone flat.

"Dead."

She was unmoved. "Are you her legal guardian?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Will Darcy."

Lizzy studied Georgiana's back for a moment longer, and pressed on areas of her back around the infection and asked her some questions. "Dr. Bingley will be here in just a moment," she said to Georgiana, who stood and turned.

She caught Lizzy's big dewy eyes and held them for a moment. Lizzy didn't know why, but she tilted her head, knowing that the young girl had something to say.

She almost didn't say it. "Don't," she breathed, her look absolutely pleading. "I know what you're going to do . . . please don't."

"What am I going to do?" asked Lizzy, narrowing her eyes and folding her arms across her chest.

"Don't call social services. Please. We've been through enough – my brother's been through enough with them."

Lizzy's gaze flicked between Georgiana and Will for a moment. "What brings you to that conclusion?"

"Because she tries to haul me away because of stupid things that I do. It's not his fault, it's mine, but she blames Will. It's not fair."

Lizzy gazed at Georgiana a moment, and then turned and looked at Will, whose face was openly astonished. She pulled a stool close to the table where Georgiana sat, and sat down. "Who is she?"

"Catherine DeBourgh," she replied. "She works for Hennepin County and ever since my dad died she's tried to put me in a home, just 'cuz of what Will does for a living."

Lizzy looked over Georgiana for a quiet moment. She looked healthy, other than the infection on her back, though she could've done without the pink hair and the hoop through one side of her nose. It seemed she was aware that she'd done something stupid, which was in her favor, and it clearly upset her that she might be taken away from her brother. "Why don't you tell me about that tattoo?" she asked quietly.

"I went behind Will's back," she explained. "I went to a guy who I knew would do it even though he knows I'm underage."

"A friend of yours?" asked Lizzy of the brother, her left eyebrow arched.

"Absolutely not," Will repeated. "Not since he-"

Georgiana turned and snapped at her brother. "Will!"

Will looked up at Lizzy, whose curiosity was obvious. "Pierced her nose." They exchanged a look for a moment. "You know, this isn't any of your business."

"I have a responsibility to my patients, and to minors in particular," she replied. "That makes it my business." Lizzy swallowed. "Dr. Bingley will be in to see you in just a moment." With that, she stood and disappeared behind the faded blue curtain.

Georgiana watched her go, and her eyes filled with tears. "Will!" she exclaimed again, not in reproach, but in fear.

Will stood and took his sister in his arms. "I'm not going to let them take you away," he whispered into her hair. "George, I promised when Dad died that I'd always take care of you, and I always will." He gingerly rubbed her upper back. "I'll talk to the doctor when he gets in here. That nurse doesn't have any right to talk to social services, or to threaten that she's going to."

After a moment, Georgiana settled down, and soon enough, a tall, blonde woman in a white coat swished back the curtain. She smiled; Georgiana pondered that she looked a little like the nurse. "Hello; I'm Dr. Bingley."

Will was about to open his mouth to say his piece about Nurse Lizzy, but was cut short when he saw she had followed the doctor. Will made a curt greeting to the doctor; Georgiana looked with big eyes to Lizzy, who surprisingly smiled comfortingly.

"Let's have a look at your back. You'll have to lay down on your tummy."

Lizzy helped her up on the table. "Do you want a pillow, Georgiana?" She nodded, and Lizzy dug under the table to pull out a squeaky pillow and tuck it in her arms under her chest. "I'm just going to tuck your shirt into your bra," she said as she did so, "and scoot your jeans down a little."

"Okay . . ." Dr. Bingley mumbled as she looked over Georgiana's infection. She issued some instructions to Lizzy, who left and came back with some things wrapped in plastic. She stepped closer to Georgiana so that she could look her in the face as she explained what she was going to do. She paused to see how her young patient took this information, and was pleased to note that her brother held tightly to her hand. "Ready?"

"Okay," whispered Georgiana.

"We'll get this taken care of and you'll feel better within about twenty four hours. I'll be right back."

"She's just going to go get the medication," explained Lizzy, catching Will's eyes. They were deep dark chocolate pools; silken, they shone with his emotions and though she could tell he was mad, she liked them very much. She was quiet for a moment, wanting to sink into those eyes, but he looked away. She swallowed and spoke again. "I didn't mean to be so crabby earlier," she said by way of apology. "It's been a long night."

Will nodded in acknowledgement; Georgiana studied her with open interest. Lizzy considered that she would have been as mad as Will was, were their situations reversed. She smiled a little, trying to lighten the mood. "I know how these crazy pink-haired teenagers have minds of their own. I have three little sisters myself. Seventeen, sixteen, and fourteen."

Dr. Bingley chose that moment to re-appear. Lizzy noted that Georgiana tensed up; knowing that the doctor could handle the procedure on her own, she sat on a stool by her head and held the hand that her brother wasn't holding. Before she began, Lizzy caught her eye. "She's going to swab the infection with a topical antibiotic. It's going to hurt," she warned the younger girl gently. "She's going to poke around a little and make sure that the infection isn't deeper than she thinks it is. It shouldn't take long, though."

"How long?" asked Georgiana, clearly frightened.

Lizzy looked up at Dr. Bingley. "What do you think?"

"Two minutes," smiled the doctor, snapping on her gloves. "Tops."

"I'll set my stop watch for you," said Lizzy as she removed it from her wrist and set it on the table so Georgiana could watch it. "Don't worry, she's a good doctor," she said, trying to soothe her patient. "She's my cousin."

Georgiana smiled tightly at the nurse. "I know you're trying to make me feel better," she said, "but could you just get it over with?"

The good doctor obliged her, and Georgiana squeezed both her brother's and the nurse's hands. Dr. Bingley announced that she was finished before Lizzy's stop watched beeped, and Georgiana caught her breath and let go of the hands she held.

Dr. Bingley issued her care instructions while Lizzy gathered some bandages and ointment for Georgiana to take home. She removed her gloves and washed her hands, and with a smile, she discharged Georgiana and told her to go home and get some sleep.

Georgiana gingerly got up off the table and her brother helped her on with her coat. Lizzy handed her a brown paper bag with her medications in it. She caught Will's eyes again. "I'm sorry," she said.

"I shouldn't have to explain myself to some self-righteous nurse with no clue as to who I am and how I care for my sister."

Lizzy looked away and sighed. There was nothing she could say right now to make it better.

He was quiet, gazing at her profile for a moment. "Thank you for making my sister feel at ease."

She turned to look at him, not knowing whether to be amused by his sudden change from anger to gratitude or not. Both emotions were sincere, she knew, but she wished she could be as certain that the second one helped soften the first. She wasn't concerned that he'd speak to hospital administration about her behavior. She was just concerned that he thought she was meddlesome and mean-spirited. _Not that it would matter,_ she told herself. _It's not like you'd ever see him again._

She watched Georgiana and Will walk away. "He's cute," said a voice next to her.

Lizzy smiled at Dr. Bingley. "Yeah," she said. "Cute and apparently available, and even if by some miracle our paths happen to cross again, will never _ever_ speak to me."

The doctor slipped her arm around her cousin's shoulders. "You did the right thing."

She sighed. She watched as Officer Wickham and a short, plump, imposing woman, whom she had seen far too many times in the ER, approach the young woman with the pink braids and her cute brother. "I hope so, Janie."

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	3. Chapter 3

Will had not seen his mother's lover since her funeral. It was, therefore, quite an odd feeling when he approached him and his sister, along with the woman who wanted nothing better than to separate them. "Officer Wickham," he said, nodding in greeting.

"Hi, Will." He was obviously just as uncomfortable as Will was.

A wrinkle appeared in his brow as he addressed his nemesis. "Ms. DeBourgh."

"What happened this time?" she demanded, loud enough for the whole ER to hear. Some heads turned.

"Your son tattooed George with a dirty needle," snapped Will at Officer Wickham. "We were just getting it taken care of, and we were leaving."

Officer Wickham looked rather uncomfortable, and turned to Catherine. "What did you say the problem was?" he asked.

"I'm having this young lady taken into foster care," she said, pointing at Georgiana. "And I want this young man arrested for child endangerment."

Officer Wickham hoisted an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because he consistently puts this girl in harm's way," she said. "He's a _tattoo_ artist; he has very seedy clientele and she spends all kinds of time at his little shop and she's obviously been corrupted."

Officer Wickham rolled his eyes. "You got papers, Cat?" he asked, snapping his gum.

"Don't talk down to me!" snapped Catherine. "I'll have your badge."

"You're a social worker, not the mayor," replied Officer Wickham in a cool tone. "Unless you can produce an order of some kind I'll just be on my way. Since it's two-thirty in the morning, I doubt you can." Catherine opened her mouth to protest; he held up a finger. "And if you make a scene in the ER, I'll arrest _you_. I don't need no stinkin' papers for that."

Catherine only cocked her head at Officer Wickham, let an indignant sound come out of her mouth, and turned with a huff to walk away. Will watched her head straight for the triage desk, where a short, plump, oily male nurse sat, and exchanged what appeared to be heated words with him.

"Sorry about that," Officer Wickham was saying. "She just grabbed me on the way in. I was on my way out. Do you want to get something to eat?"

Will's look had softened a little. "Thanks for getting rid of her," he said, trying to ignore his offer.

"She bugs us all the time," said Georgiana timidly.

"Are you okay?" asked Wickham of Georgiana, rumpling his brow. "I'm sorry that David was careless."

"Can't really expect much else," snapped Will before he knew it was coming out of his mouth. He looked at Officer Wickham a little sheepishly then, and then looked at the floor. "Sorry. That was mean."

Wickham shook his head. "It's all right. Do you want to grab something to eat?"

Before Will could decline, Georgiana piped up. "I do," she said. "I'm starved."

They found the hospital cafeteria; Will declined anything but coffee, but Georgiana and Wickham ate. "When did you see David?" Wickham asked of Georgiana as he munched on a sandwich.

"Thursday," she replied, stuffing her mouth with another bite of her salad.

"Is he all right?"

Will looked up from his coffee cup. "You mean you don't know?"

"No," replied Wickham. "I haven't seen David in over a year."

Will and Georgiana exchanged a look. "Dave never said anything about that," said Georgiana. "He kind of made it sound like you guys had just had a fight."

"I called about a week ago," said Wickham. "I try to call; I try to go to his shop . . . I never catch him there. I don't know where he lives anymore. Any time we talk we wind up fighting. I bring up his drinking and he shuts down."

"He wasn't drinking when I saw him," said Georgiana. She took another bite of her salad, thinking. "Though he did say he didn't feel well. He was probably hung over."

Wickham nodded; Will looked away. They were silent for a long moment before the officer made an attempt to change subjects. "So . . . you guys look good. You look healthy anyway. You look a little tired, Will, and I confess I never really cared for pink hair." He smiled a little at Georgiana; she smiled a little in return.

"We're managing," said Will. "It's kind of been hard since Dad died, with that witch DeBourgh breathing down my neck."

"I know some people at DHS," said Officer Wickham. "I can see what I can do for you . . . seems to me like you're doing okay."

Will looked him over. "You'd do that?"

Wickham nodded. "Sure . . . and can I ask something?"

"Sure," replied Will, taking the last sip of his coffee.

"Do you remember any male nurses in the ER who attended you?"

"No," said Will, shaking his head. He turned to Georgiana, who shook hers as well. "Why?"

"Well," Wickham wiped his mouth. "You remember the little fat one at the triage desk when we left that talked to Cat?" Will nodded. "The guy's name is Billy Collins. For some time I've suspected that he's been leaking information on children who come to the ER to Cat. Whenever a kid comes in – a little baby or a young adult – he calls and tells her all the information that he knows, she comes down, and exercises all the power that the doctors who happen to be on staff at the time will let her."

"So you think he called her?" Will asked. Wickham nodded. "He didn't. The nurse did."

"The nurse?" repeated Wickham. "What nurse?"

"Her name was Lizzy," said Georgiana.

"Lizzy." Wickham cocked an eyebrow. "Kinda tall, dark hair?"

"Yeah, that's the one," confirmed Georgiana, a little disgust evident in her voice.

"Oh, I don't think she would've called," said Wickham. "She couldn't anyway; a doctor has to make that call."

"She could've told that doctor. Or any doctor."

"Trust me, guys," said Wickham as he finished off his sandwich, "Lizzy didn't call Cat." It was too bad that the pair of them already seemed to hate her, since from the moment he met that slightly tortured nurse, he thought she'd be perfect for his best friend's son. "Well," he said, "I need to get back on duty. It's good to see you kids."

Will and Georgiana stood and smiled at Officer Wickham. "Let me know if you two need anything . . . and I'll call my friend Ed at DHS." He kissed Georgiana's cheek and wanted to shake Will's hand, but knew Will didn't want to return the gesture. "See you guys around, huh?"

Will watched his back for a moment. "Hey, Wick," he called before he knew it was coming out of his mouth.

Officer Wickham turned around and stepped a few paces closer to Will. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Wickham smiled, more warm and genuine than he had in a long time, nodded, and turned back to his duties.

Lizzy stepped quietly into the busy office, feeling quite conspicuous and out of place. She donned one of the visitor's badges that lay on the counter of the front desk and waited to be attended. After a few minutes, a short, plump woman with obvious green eye shadow greeted her in a gravelly voice.

"What can I do for you, dear?" she asked.

_Well, that's decidedly inappropriate for a government office,_ thought Lizzy. "I'm here to see Ed Gardiner," she replied. "I have an appointment."

"Oh, do you?" she drawled, and forced a smile. "Mr. Gardiner doesn't usually make appointments with clients."

"I'm not a client," replied Lizzy.

"You aren't, huh?"

"No."

The woman sat in her chair and looked back at Lizzy, making no attempt to retrieve Mr. Gardiner. "Well, what's this about, then?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," replied Lizzy, obviously offended.

"_Jaaaan_," came a deep voice from behind the receptionist. "What's the problem?"

Lizzy shot Jan a dirty look and then lifted her eyes to greet a tall, middle-aged man in shirtsleeves. "My name is Lizzy Bennet," she said. "I have an appointment with Mr. Gardiner."

"You're in luck," he declared. "That's me."

Lizzy smiled. Mr. Gardiner showed her to his office, and offered her coffee, which she accepted with another smile. When they were settled, Mr. Gardiner asked her how she was.

"Oh, I'm fine," she replied. "I'm about to head to work. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me the other day."

"Not a problem, Lizzy," he replied. "Here are those papers that I need you to sign."

"Um . . . okay," she replied, and then went on to review with Mr. Gardiner the papers that he wanted her to sign that detailed how too many times she had seen Catherine DeBourgh intervening in situations where intervention wasn't necessary. They reviewed what she had had to say about Billy Collins and about the night the Darcys came into the ER. She went over again how she had watched Billy like a hawk and then, even though he hadn't admitted them, she had heard him on his cell phone talking in a hushed voice about a young woman and a tattoo.

When she was finished, Mr. Gardiner looked at her, a kind expression in his eyes. "Are you sure you want to sign these, Lizzy?"

"Yes," she replied, putting pen to paper. "I feel bad for the guy," she shrugged. "Trying to bring up a teenager with someone who doesn't really have their best interests in mind, breathing down his neck. And that poor girl lost both her folks, and now she's petrified that she's going to be taken away from her brother."

"And let me just ask again . . . you haven't got anything to do with Will or Georgiana at all?"

Lizzy smiled ruefully. "No . . . I'm pretty sure if Will even remembers me, he doesn't think well of me. I wasn't very nice when they came in . . . I had a tough night, and . . . well . . ."

Mr. Gardiner smiled. "Thank you for stopping by to sign these," he said. As the two of them exchanged a few closing civilities, neither one noticed a tall, pink-haired young lady and her brother step in front of Mr. Gardiner's office door.

At first, Will was both surprised and agitated to find Nurse Lizzy looking steadfastly at Mr. Gardiner; for some reason, however, all he could think of was that she looked fantastic. To begin with, her lips were covered with a wet pink gloss and he couldn't help but let his eyes linger there for a moment. She wore her uniform, a typical hospital blue arrangement with bright white shoes, and all that thick, walnut hair was swept away from her face and off her shoulders to a fat, loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her big bright eyes, though fixed on Mr. Gardiner, struck Will with their artlessness, and he squeezed Georgiana's hand. "I think it's okay," he whispered.

Georgiana raised her eyebrow at her brother. "You hated her a couple of days ago," she hissed.

_She didn't look like that a couple of days ago,_ thought Will. Aloud, he said, "I don't think Ed would be smiling if she came to tell him I was a horrible guardian."

"Well, what would she be here for?" asked his sister.

"First, you're assuming this is about us. Maybe it's not. Maybe it's about her."

"I doubt it," countered Georgiana, crossing her arms.

Will turned to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. "George," he started, but she cut him off.

"We'll just wait for her," she said. "And don't give me that look and tell me it's rude. I don't want to get rid of DeBourgh just to have some other bitch like her interfere."

Will looked over his sister and saw that she was perfectly serious. "Okay," he said quietly. "We can wait. But cut back on the swears, please."

She raised her eyebrows at him, still feeling rather punchy. "You're not my dad."

"I'm only too aware of that, Georgiana."

She knew she had said too much; it was a habit she seemed to be unable to break. She just cringed at the ache she could see in her brother's eyes, and then turned away.

"Well, hello there," came a cheerful, deep voice, and Will turned to see Ed Gardiner smiling at him. Nurse Lizzy was nowhere to be seen. "How are you, Will? Georgiana?"

Will swallowed and wanted to ask where Lizzy had gone. "Um . . . we're fine," he replied.

"We wanna talk to you," spewed Georgiana. "About Ms. DeBourgh."

Will was surprised when Ed smiled kindly. "Why don't we have a seat in my office?"

Georgiana forged ahead and plopped herself in the chair that Lizzy had most recently occupied. Will followed her and Ed closed the door behind them. "I do have some news for you about Ms. DeBourgh," he began. "She's been reassigned to some different cases."

Will turned to look at his sister and could not hide the triumphant gleam in his eye. She turned to look at him, a little sheepishly. "How come?" she asked, considerably more quiet.

"Oh, just something we do from time to time," lied Ed. He settled into his chair and leaned back a little. "But in any case, I'm glad you dropped by. Yesterday I spoke to a friend of yours – an Officer Wickham. If I'm not mistaken, he was a friend of your father's?"

"Yes," replied Will quietly. "They were best friends . . . partners."

"It was a bit of a surprise to find out he knew you two. I've known George for about ten years." Unable to hide his curiosity, Will leaned forward a little and asked what Officer Wickham had to say about them. "Oh, he was very complimentary," replied Ed.

"I'm glad," said Will. "Did he tell you about George?"

"About her visit to the ER? Sure. Is everything all right?" He smiled at Georgiana. She nodded and looked away. "Excellent. What was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Will looked at Mr. Gardiner. "Well . . . we just wanted to talk to you about Ms. DeBourgh. She's been overbearing, and . . . well, I guess it doesn't matter. She's going away." He looked at Georgiana. She looked away.

"I believe your new case worker is in today," said Ed. "Would you like to meet him?" Will stood and nodded, a little dazed that all his frustrations seemed to have melted away in the span of a few moments. He couldn't help but think that Lizzy's visit to Mr. Gardiner had more than a little to do with it, and he couldn't help the little glimmer of hope beginning inside of him that maybe some time soon, they would again cross paths.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	4. Chapter 4

In a cold corner of her brother's workroom, Georgiana Darcy sat curled with her school books. It was a wintry Saturday afternoon in late November. With her newly-colored blue hair trimmed short and spiked erratically around her head, the heavy silver hoop in her nose, and the thick black liner tracing her round blue eyes, one would expect that her headphones blasted angry Disturbed songs into her ears, but they didn't. The music of Mozart soothed her into concentration as she worked on her English homework, writing an essay. The topic of her choice was urban sprawl – something she had chosen without knowing what it was. Now, of course, the assignment was due in three days and she had not counted on having to do research for a three hundred word essay. She had work to do, and she took all of her schoolwork, whether she liked it or not, quite seriously.

Will was working on the shoulder blade of a man who looked so young, Will had asked to see his driver's license twice before he had consented to do any work. Pausing in her writing, Georgiana gazed up at the man's back. It was bright red and he was clearly uncomfortable; Georgiana smirked. The design was absolutely beautiful – Will's work, of course – a bright orange sun, palm trees, and two colorful parrots. It made her feel warm to look at.

Shielded from the main lobby in what she considered her own place in the shop, she usually couldn't hear what was going on beyond Will's workroom, and especially with headphones on, but a loud thump caught her attention. Will looked up from his work, as well. She saw him rumple his brow, cough, and mumble something, and then he returned to his work. A moment later, Owen pulled the shade up on the window into the workroom and gave him a look. Georgiana looked up at Owen, pulling off her headphones.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Owen ignored her and whispered something to Will, who apologized to his customer, set his needle down, and pulled off his gloves.

"You stay there," he instructed his sister as he left the room.

Georgiana turned her palms up and made a face. "Oh, like I'm gonna," she replied to his back, tossing her books aside. She paused to inspect Will's work. "Looks good," she smiled at the man, who clearly needed a break from the needle anyway.

When she reached the main lobby, her heart caught in her throat. Will was desperately trying to get a loud and heavily intoxicated Dave Wickham out of the shop. "Shit," she muttered.

"Dave, I'm with a customer. You gotta go."

"No, Will," he slurred, looking at his old friend, "no, I gotta talk to ya. Look, I'm really sorry-"

"Dave, now's not the time. You're drunk and I'm working. You can call me later; now get out."

"No, but I'm real sorry about George," he said emphatically, taking several breaths. Then he spotted Georgiana herself. Before she could turn around, he approached her, practically gasping for air. "George! Good that you're here. I'm tryin' to tell Will, I'm real sor- . . . sorry about what happened."

"Damn it, George, I told you to stay put," he spat. "Look, Dave, I hate to be blunt, but get the hell out."

"Noo," he said as he turned around, and stumbled toward Will again. "I just . . . you gotta . . . you know what? I don't feel so good."

"Oh, Jesus Christ. David, if you blow chunks in my shop, I'm going to make you eat it, I swear to God. Now get the hell out."

Georgiana, however, having observed that Dave was truly having difficulty breathing, managed to say to her brother, "Will, I think he's really-" just as Dave collapsed in a heap at Will's feet.

Fear gripped Georgiana and her feet seemed frozen in place. Will knelt by Dave and tried to wake him. Owen dropped next to Will and felt for breathing and a pulse, and when he found none, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to call 911. Georgiana watched for what seemed an interminable moment, and then, without knowing where she was going or why she was running, she turned and flew down the stairs and out into the street.

She had not taken four steps onto Washington Avenue when her body slammed into someone else's, spilling hot coffee everywhere.

"Oh, shit!" she muttered as she stopped to collect herself. The woman she had run into was brushing the hot liquid off of her thick winter coat. "I'm so sorry!" she cried as tears filled her eyes. "Are you all right?"

The person she had run into looked up. There was no anger in her eyes, only confusion. "Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, and looked down to brush more coffee off her coat with her mitten. "Are you?"

"Yes," she practically sobbed. "I'm so sorry."

The woman looked up again. "No, you're not," she replied, putting her hand on Georgiana's arm. "What's wrong?"

Georgiana looked up, and paused in surprise as she recognized the nurse who had attended her in the emergency room. "Lizzy! Oh, God – I need help! Come with me!"

Before Lizzy knew what was happening, she was being dragged up a flight of stairs, and before her lay a long and unconscious man. She shifted immediately into nurse mode and tore off her coat, hat, and mittens.

"What did he take?" she asked, feeling for a pulse.

Kneeling on the other side of Dave's body, Georgiana replied, "He's drunk."

Lizzy flipped his eyelids back and peered into his eyes. "How long ago did he pass out?"

"A minute or two."

"How long's he been drunk?"

"We don't know."

Lizzy looked up to meet Georgiana's eyes. The younger woman was frightened, she could tell, but she had no time to soothe her. "Did you call an ambulance?"

"Yeah, Owen did. Is this bad?"

"It ain't good. Do you know CPR?"

Petrified, she shook her head.

"You're about to learn."

Tilting Dave's head back, Lizzy administered three breaths, and then, without asking, took Georgiana's hands and laid them on his chest. "Compressions," she instructed, as she performed them with her hands over Georgiana's. "Don't be a wuss about it," she barked as she bent to administer three more breaths to Dave. "Go!"

Without time to think, with the full weight of her small body, Georgiana did what the nurse had instructed her to do with tears running down her cheeks.

"Five compressions, three breaths, till the paramedics get here."

And then the cycle started, with absolute silence in the shop, and all eyes watching them work. Neither Georgiana nor Lizzy knew how many times they repeated it before they noticed that a stretcher was being hauled up the stairs. A six-foot-six bald paramedic more or less picked Georgiana up and moved her aside to take her place. She clung to her brother; he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

A dialogue passed between Lizzy and the paramedics as they took over. When one of them declared that he could feel a pulse, Lizzy leaned against a wall, breathless, as they carefully took Dave to the ambulance. The bald paramedic who had moved Georgiana aside smirked at Lizzy.

"You get a pin, Liz," he said as he walked backwards down the steps. "Even I don't have one of those."

"Yeah," she smiled back at him. "Tell 'em I'll be late, Phil. I think I'm a little drunk. That dude is soaked."

Phil winked. "See ya, Lizzy," he said as he disappeared through the door.

Lizzy looked around. "Now where the hell's my coat?"

Mechanically, Georgiana walked over to where Lizzy's discarded coat lay. She picked it up and dusted it off, handing it to her.

"Thanks," she said as she stood. She looked around again. "Um . . . I think I had a hat and mittens?"

Will appeared before her, with her mittens and hat in his hands. She froze, and her heart started thumping loudly in her chest "Oh," she said, her face flushing. She turned to Georgiana. "Oh," she repeated. "I didn't recognize you with that hair. I was wondering how you knew my name." Georgiana smiled a little and looked away. Without knowing what to say, she put on her coat and mittens, and tucked her head into her hat. "So," she said as she gestured toward the door, "someone you guys know, or just a customer?"

Will coughed. "He used to be my best friend," he replied.

After an uncomfortable pause, Georgiana asked, "So . . . what kind of pin do you get?"

Lizzy looked down. "Oh . . . you, ah . . . you get a pin when you administer CPR to someone and save their life. Most of the time in the ER, by the time we get to someone in need of CPR it's too late."

Will looked toward the door. "It isn't too late for Dave?" he asked.

"Well, I don't think so, as long as he quits drinking," she replied, looking at him earnestly. "But, you know, I'm not a doctor or anything."

He nodded, looking around a little before he met her eyes. They were bright; no doubt from adrenaline, and she looked just as beautiful covered with a layer of wool as she had a few months ago in her uniform. "I'm glad," was all he could think to say.

Lizzy blushed and felt warm, but she was not sure whether it was her heavy coat or the look Will was giving her. She smiled a little at him. "Well . . . are you guys OK?"

Will nodded quickly; so did Georgiana. Lizzy turned to Owen. "You too? You all look a little shaken."

"Well, we don't really get a lot of action up here," Owen said with a smile. "It's generally pretty quiet. Until George starts playing her Mozart, that is."

Georgiana smiled and blushed at Owen. Lizzy observed her a moment; she seemed to be all right. Owen was looking at her, a bit of a longing expression in his eyes, as she excused herself to complete her homework.

"She's too young for you, Owen," growled Will when she was out of earshot.

Owen just grinned at him. "Not for long." He walked away; Will turned his attention toward Lizzy again.

She drew a breath and let it out. "Well . . . I guess I'll be going."

He grabbed her arm. "Thank you," he said, his voice gentle and rich with emotion.

"I guess I was just in the right place at the right time," she said. "See you around, huh?"

Will nodded. "Yeah."

Lizzy smiled at him and wished she could stay. He returned her smile, and when she had walked down the stairs, turning to give him one more smile, he turned back toward his workroom.

The first half of Lizzy's work shift went fairly smoothly and was relatively uneventful. She was glad that her cousin was not there that night; Jane surely would notice her light mood and quiz her about it. With everyone else, it was easily passed off as the remains of an adrenaline rush, which they had all experienced at one time or another.

During her dinner break she inquired of Charlotte, the new triage nurse, where her patient had been placed. Charlotte directed her to the ICU, and when Lizzy got there, she knocked on the door quietly before she slowly opened it. Officer Wickham sat by the patient's bedside, gazing at his face with his hands folded in front of him. Lizzy smiled at him, a little confused as to why he was there. "Hey, Wick."

When his face alighted on Lizzy, he jumped up and wrapped her in his arms. "Lizzy!"

"Hey," she said, confused, as she hugged him back. "What's up?"

Wickham sighed as he pulled away from Lizzy; there were tears in his eyes. "Did you know that David is my boy?"

Her gaze flicked from Dave's nearly lifeless form on the bed and back to her friend, a little surprised. "No, I didn't."

"Phil said you saved his life," continued Wickham as they both approached Dave's bed.

"Phil dramatizes the situation," demurred Lizzy. "I was just in the right-"

"Place at the right time," he finished for her. "Take the credit you deserve, girl."

She blushed a little. "It is kinda cool. I still have a little bit of a rush going." Officer Wickham smiled at Lizzy and then turned to watch Dave. "What do the docs say?" she asked quietly.

"Adult respiratory distress syndrome," he said, without lifting his gaze from his son. "Brought on by his drinking. He's going through withdrawals, too." He paused a moment. "He's in rough shape."

Silently, Lizzy readily agreed. She surveyed the room, making an assessment of Dave's condition, trying to find something positive to tell his father. "He's initiating the breaths on his own," she offered. "That's a good sign."

"That's what they tell me," he replied quietly. After a moment, he looked up at her. "So how did you get involved?"

"Well, I was just walking to work," she began. "Someone slammed right into me and spilled my coffee everywhere. She recognized me before I recognized her – it was that kid with the tattoo and the hot brother. Georgia, I think? Those two that you said you knew."

"Georgiana," he corrected with a smirk.

"Yeah, that's it. So she drug me up the stairs, and there was David, laying on the floor. If it's any consolation, he looks a whole lot healthier now than when I started CPR."

Officer Wickham smiled as another knock was heard, and invited the person in.

Georgiana and Will Darcy tiptoed slowly into the room, looking tired. Without thinking, Lizzy smiled warmly as her eyes met Will's. The corner of his mouth twitched in response, and then he shook Officer Wickham's hand.

Quiet hellos were said all around as Will and Georgiana took their coats off. Lizzy watched Will and thought it was odd that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt, but immediately drew her attention away from his well-formed biceps when she caught Officer Wickham watching her with a grin.

Georgiana and Will each took a place at Dave's bedside, and each took a hand. Without looking up, Will inquired about Dave's condition. When his questions were all answered, Georgiana looked around curiously.

"Hey Lizzy," she said, laying down the hand she held and crossing her arms, "what's all this stuff?"

"You mean these machines?" asked Lizzy, stepping a little closer. She was right next to Will.

"Yeah. Like, what's in that bag?" she asked as she pointed to Dave's IV drip.

Lizzy stood on her toes and read the label on the bag. "Well, he's horribly dehydrated," she replied. "It's fluid replacement; helps filter out the toxins. If he's on other medications – probably steroids and painkillers – they just hook them up here." She tapped on a valve in the tube. "Um . . . the tube in his mouth is the respirator. Like I explained to Officer Wickham, he's initiating breaths on his own; he just can't get enough air. The rest of this stuff is just monitoring him; his blood pressure, his heart rate, his respirations . . . all that stuff. He's probably got a catheter, too."

Georgiana raised an eyebrow and lifted her hand. "The catheter was too much info."

Lizzy smirked. "Sorry," she replied.

Silence fell over the little room again; Georgiana looked over Lizzy. She liked her, which amazed Georgiana – to begin with, she hated all manner of medical professionals, and Lizzy had scared the bejesus out of her when they first met. Also, she had never liked anyone that Will had ever liked, and unless she was incredibly off the mark, Will liked Lizzy. Georgiana smiled.

"Wick," she said quietly, looking up at him, "you wanna help me find a Mountain Dew?"

Officer Wickham looked at her, his gaze flicking to Will and then to Lizzy. The corner of his mouth twitched, and he replied, "Sure. This way."

When they had gone and the door shut behind them, Will put down Dave's hand. "Those two think they're so clever."

Lizzy smirked, and looked over at him. "We did start off on the wrong foot . .. I mean, I was crabby and tired . . . I didn't treat you very well."

He smiled down at her. "I wasn't exactly cordial, either," he replied. She returned his smile, and they were again quiet for a minute more.

"Aren't you cold?"

Will rubbed his arms and then folded them across his chest. "Yeah, a little."

"How come you aren't wearing a sweater? I mean, it's freezing out."

"Because of these," he replied, tapping his index finger on the arm band tattooed around his left bicep.

"Oh," she replied quietly, studying it. "Advertising, huh?" He smirked and nodded lightly in reply. "Does it mean anything?"

"They're triskels," he replied, "one linked with another."

"All the way around?" she asked, her brow twitching.

He lifted his arm to show her. "Yep."

"Did it hurt?"

He smiled fully. "Yep."

He put his arm back down, and she continued to study Will's tattoo. Unconsciously, she reached out to touch the larger triskel in the middle of his arm. His skin was warm and soft; she allowed her whole hand to caress it. She let out a breath and looked up at him. "Um . . . does it mean anything? A triskel." He reached out to take her other hand. "What does it mean?"

"Triskels are a particular weakness of mine," he replied quietly, stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb. "They . . ." he paused to keep the tone of his voice deceptively neutral. "They represent the three facets of a unity . . . sea, sky, and earth, or speed, strength, and agility – or religiously, the three faces of a deity." He paused to swallow. Then, with an earnest look in his eyes, he continued. "Lizzy . . . Georgiana told me she spilled your coffee this afternoon."

"Yeah," she breathed, looking down at their hands. When she looked up into his eyes again, she felt warmth suffuse her cheeks. "I guess she did."

"I'd like to make that up to you," he offered, tilting his head a little. "Would you let me buy you another sometime?"

A smile spread slowly across Lizzy's face, and her eyes darted around a little before she looked up at him demurely and replied, "I'd like that."

Georgiana and Officer Wickham slid quietly through the door. Shyly, Lizzy looked up at them and then quietly made her excuses to go back to work. She squeezed Will's hand as she stepped by him to leave the room.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


	5. Chapter 5

A week and a half later, Lizzy found herself facing the staircase to Will's Washington Avenue tattoo shop. The steps were steep, and she was exhausted, but she gained them one by one, and at the top, she paused. She didn't know if Will was even working that night, but she was determined. Inside, she felt scarred; she saw no reason not to honor the occasion by scarring herself on the outside.

A young man in loose khakis approached her. He was tall and broad-shouldered with stubble for hair and a friendly smile. "Can I help you?" he asked. "Have you got an appointment?"

"No," she said, trying not to examine the dragon tattoos on his forearms too closely. "I mean . . . no, I haven't got an appointment, and yes, you can help me. I'm looking for Will."

"Will's with a client right now," said the man. "I'm Pete. Are you thinking about getting a tattoo?"

"Um . . . yeah. I . . . I'd really like to see Will, if he maybe takes a break or something. Can he . . . can he do that?"

Pete smiled, and knew Will would kill him if he even thought about touching this woman with a needle. "Just a sec."

Pete walked over to an opening in the wall and spoke to whomever was on the other side. He turned back to Lizzy and gestured for her to approach. She did, to find Will bent over a man's arm, working diligently, his needle buzzing away.

She silently watched him work. She couldn't quite make out the design, but it looked tribal or maybe Celtic. "He's just about to take a break. Do you want to look at some flash?"

Lizzy looked up at Pete. "Flash?"

"Will's portfolio. His drawings and stuff."

"Oh. Sure," she replied with a blush creeping over her cheeks.

Pete smiled. "There's flash all over the walls; I'm pretty sure he's willing to do anything. Our particular portfolios are over here." He led her to a shelf and pulled out two books. "This one's mine," he said proudly as he handed it to her. "I like dinosaurs."

Lizzy ran her fingers over the cover with a smile. It was a rendering of a Madonna and child – except that the Madonna was a triceratops and the child was an alien. "You drew this?"

"Yeah," replied Pete. "But you probably want to see Will's."

"Um . . . yeah," breathed Lizzy, and they exchanged books. "What kind of stuff does Will do?"

"Most often he does tribal things, like what he's doing right now. He knows a lot about what that stuff means. He loves triskels. He's taken a lot of artistic license with some of these, but they're all really great."

Lizzy opened the cover of Will's portfolio and was greeted with the face of a beautiful young woman. She was smiling a little, her dark hair tickling her cheeks and her big blue eyes laughing. "Wow," commented Lizzy. "He drew this?" She had never even considered it, but as she looked over the drawing she realized that these people were artists – an untraditional sort, to be sure, but artists all the same, with insight and talent that she couldn't even hope to have.

"It's his mom," replied Pete quietly. "He really misses her."

Lizzy murmured her appreciation as she continued to flip through Will's portfolio. There was such a mix of designs and drawings – everything from tribal and Celtic motifs, to dragons and tigers, butterflies and fairies, and vines with flowers. She was fascinated with his work and when she came to the last page, she was disappointed. Fortunately Pete had another, smaller binder to hand to her.

"These are his pictures – some of the same stuff," he explained as she took it and opened it. "Are you going to have him work on you?" asked Pete.

"Well," she replied, hoisting her eyebrow at a picture of a spiky wave design tattooed up the side of a rather shapely, rather naked woman, "that was the object." Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement, and she turned to see Will stretch his arms.

"You sure you want to stop?" he asked his customer. "I'm fine; I just need to rest my shoulders. It'll be done in about an hour or so."

"That's all right. We can finish it in a few weeks. I'm pretty tired."

Will nodded, scheduled a time for the man to return, and settled his bill. Only then did he notice Nurse Lizzy standing next to Pete, holding his portfolio. He approached slowly, his eyes meeting hers and locking.

He swallowed. "Pete, do you have anything else going on tonight?"

"Nope," he replied. "You wanna take off?"

Will looked briefly at Pete and then back at Lizzy. "Yeah, thanks." He continued to walk toward her, his eyebrow cocked and his hands folded in front of him. "Hi."

"Hi," she replied with a smile. She lifted up the book in her hands. "You do good work. These are beautiful."

"Thanks." He blushed. "Are you here as a customer, or did you come to collect your coffee?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh . . . the customer part first," she replied quietly, recalling her mission. "If I told you what I wanted, could you draw it and then . . . put it on me?"

Will nodded. "I can do anything you like," he said.

"I had a really rough night," she said quietly. "I, uh . . . we lost a patient tonight. I mean, we lose people all the time; you'd think I'd know how to deal with it . . . but this was different. He . . . he wasn't even five." She paused to swallow. "Something that really didn't have to happen. Shouldn't have happened."

Impulsively, Will reached out to grab her hand. "I'm so sorry," he replied. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, trying to control her emotions. "So can you do . . . I don't know . . . maybe some flowers and the date or something?"

"Um . . . I wouldn't get the date," Will advised gently. "You'll want to get something you won't mind looking at in twenty years, and I doubt you'll always want to remember such a thing."

"But I feel so . . ."

"Scarred?" finished Will for her, not knowing how much his thoughts echoed hers.

Her eyes watered, and a sob escaped. "I'm sorry," she said, turning away. Her hand slipped out of his.

He squeezed her shoulder and then stepped away to retrieve a tissue for her; unfortunately, all he had were paper towels. He retrieved them nonetheless and handed them to her. She thanked him. After a very quiet moment, during which even Pete watched and mouthed a question to Will concerning her well-being, she spoke. "He had the most beautiful brown eyes," she said. "Not even five." She sighed and looked away, folding her arms under her breasts.

Will watched her for a moment, and then grabbed his coat. "Let's go get that coffee."

She looked at him. He was tired, she could tell, but she could also tell that his offer was genuine and artless. "Sure," she said, and followed him down the stairs.

They navigated Washington Avenue, and just a few doors away found the coffee shop Lizzy liked to frequent before she started work. Once they had collected their coffee, Will took Lizzy's hand gently and led her to a quiet spot where two comfortable wing backed chairs faced each other. They warmed up without speaking. Lizzy took a few sips of her coffee before she thanked Will for buying it.

"Don't mention it," he said. "It's my pleasure."

She smiled across the small distance between them. "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?" he asked, setting his left ankle on top of his right one, more than willing to tell her anything she wanted to know.

"Everything," she replied, "from why you have custody of your little sister to why you're a tattoo artist."

Will was hesitant and looked around the shop for a moment. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, his face serious.

"I like you, Will," she replied quietly. "A lot. Of course I really want to know."

Will swallowed. "There isn't anyone that really knows my history except for my sister," he said. "No one's really ever cared to ask."

"You must want to talk about it," said Lizzy. "The last couple of years of my life haven't exactly been a picnic. I used to want to talk about it, when I had someone that I thought would listen."

His gaze was intense across the little space between them. "I'll listen to you."

Lizzy leaned forward and held out her hand. "You first."

He paused before replying, "Okay." He swallowed a few more times, looking into a pair of eyes he was coming to adore and trying to find the right place to start. "My mom was an alcoholic," he began quietly. "She started drinking when George was little. She died about seven years ago. I came home from school to do some laundry and found her in her chair – looked like she was asleep, but no." His eyes watered at the recollection, but he continued. "Alcohol poisoning." He swallowed. "She got us in debt pretty bad . . . we found out when she died that she was cheating on my dad with Dave's dad . . . my dad was a Minneapolis police officer, too; they were partners. Mom would get Wick to bring her booze when my dad refused her money or took the car away. In turn, he borrowed a lot of money from my mother – upwards of two hundred thousand dollars. He had a gambling problem. When she died, Dad sold the house and still had debt. She drained George's college savings account. I was actually in college at the time so she knew she couldn't touch that money, or my dad would know. It was a good thing she didn't, otherwise I never would have graduated."

As he paused Lizzy tried to think of something to say. His tale answered a lot of the questions she had always had about Officer Wickham but had never asked. She decided on a neutral question. "What's your degree in?" she asked.

"I have a BA in art history," he replied. "I started tattooing when Dave did – I think we were fifteen. My dad insisted that I go to college, so I did. Then, afterward, I was going to do all this traveling, and I then I wanted to find someone who would apprentice me on one of the coasts. I would've been away from my family, but it would've been what I wanted to do.

"Well, the traveling thing went out the window, considering that Mom spent all the money. But after a while, Dad seemed okay – his bills were manageable, and he was coping, and George and I were doing okay with the whole thing. I found an apprenticeship here, with Pete and Owen. Then, three years ago, my dad died in the line of duty – a raid on a meth lab." He stopped again, swallowing, and chuckled a bit. "Bullet proof vests don't protect you from gunshot wounds to the head, you see."

"I'm sorry," Lizzy broke in, close to choking on tears she was desperately trying to hold back. "Will, you don't have to keep going. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," he replied. "I want to. Like I said, I've never told this to anyone."

Her own eyes watery, Lizzy nodded. "Okay," she whispered.

"So anyway, my dad died, and after all was said and done, I had a thirteen year old girl to take care of and not much to do it with. Dave was my roommate in college; we'd known each other almost our entire lives, our dads being friends. He taught me how to tattoo – I've always drawn well, and he used to say all the time that I could make a ton of money tattooing. One summer during college I got licensed for it. I'd do tattoos for friends occasionally, and overflow work for Owen and Pete, who I met getting my license. Then when my dad died, I had to get a part-time job – I work mornings at Walker Art Center – but the guys gave me a permanent place at the shop . . . mostly, I think, because they felt sorry for me. Plus Owen's got a thing for George. I've been working both jobs since."

"And you haven't got anyone to help?" asked Lizzy, taking his free hand. "A grandma or an aunt or something?"

Will shook his head. "No. It's just me. Hennepin County wasn't very kind to me, either." He stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "Maybe they'll go away now."

Lizzy took in a breath. "I hope so."

Will lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. "I swear," he said on impulse, "you have the bluest eyes I've ever seen."

Lizzy blushed and looked down, and then back up. He was perfectly honest; perfectly serious. She smiled a bit. "You were saying?" she whispered uncomfortably.

Will refused to look away, but his gaze upon her turned gentle as he continued. "If my dad hadn't taken such great pains to make sure that I'd be George's guardian she'd be in the hands of the state and I might be lucky enough to have visiting rights."

With eyes full of sympathy, she squeezed his hand. "Thank you for telling me."

Will smiled. "What about you?" he asked, flipping her hand over and cradling it. "Tell me about you."

"Not much to tell," she declared.

"Like hell," he countered with a smirk. "You're a registered nurse who works the night shift in the ER. That's something in itself – I imagine there aren't many people who want that position."

"It isn't real popular," she confessed. "You have to have a pretty thick skin, and you have to put up with surgeons, most of which expect nurses to bend over and take whatever they have to dish out without question – and in select cases I mean that quite literally."

Will hoisted an eyebrow. "You're sidestepping me, Lizzy."

"Okay," she replied, blushing. "If you must know . . ." As she trailed off, she looked down, an then up again, and then sipped her coffee. As she set down the cup she caught Will's inquisitive, patient eyes and felt less nervous. "My father died of a heart attack my senior year in high school," she began quietly. "I'm the oldest of four girls. I was going to go to NYU . . . I wanted to work in the publishing industry. But Dad had no life insurance, I couldn't get enough financial aid on such short notice, and I didn't feel like I could move on with my life and leave my mother and three sisters to fend for themselves. Instead, I worked at a nursing home at night and Janie – Dr. Bingley, my cousin – helped me through nursing school at the U – a much more practical career, closer to home. Most of my money goes to my mom and sisters. If I lived there I'd go nuts, so instead, I have a little apartment."

"I think there's more to your story than that," he said quietly, "but I'll let it slide."

"Thank you," she replied. She finished off her coffee and set the cup down on a little table by the chairs they sat in. "So . . . do you have any other tattoos?"

"Yeah." He ran his index finger down the middle of her hand, grasping it firmly. "My dad's badge, on my chest."

Her eyes started to shine with unshed tears. "Oh."

He looked up from her soft and strong hand to eyes that looked like the Caribbean. "Are you okay, Lizzy?"

She scooted her chair closer to his, appreciating the warmth of his hand over hers. Their knees touched. It was almost enough to make her forget about why she had come to him in the first place. "Yeah." She nodded, and swallowed, and turned her face up to his. "You know, when I lost my first patient – an old lady who really, really wanted to go – I went home to my mom and told her about it. She was less than sympathetic."

"Do you ordinarily get along with your mom?"

"No," she replied, smirking a little and shaking her head. She hoped he didn't notice the tear that had welled in the corner of her eye. "To be more specific, she told me to get over it and that I'd better not miss any work over it because Lydia needed a new pair of shoes."

Will's brow contracted and he squeezed Lizzy's hand. "And _you_ haven't got anyone to help?" he questioned. "Nobody?"

Lizzy shook her head. "My grandparents are all gone and both my folks were only children. Janie's a second cousin from my dad's side of the family. She and I only really met at his funeral." She toyed with her empty coffee cup. "But anyway . . . my mom works sometimes," she said.

"She should work all the time, if she's got kids to support," he blurted. Knowing immediately that he had said something that he shouldn't have, he closed his eyes. "Sorry."

Surprisingly, she smiled. "It's all right. That's nothing I haven't heard before."

"Who did you hear it from last?" he asked, curious.

"My boyfriend," she replied, feeling silly for calling him that. "My ex-boyfriend, that is. Richard was a medical student who came from a very well-to-do family. I thought that he just didn't understand my family's situation because he was wealthy and always had been. We broke up; after deep thought about it, I realized that he was right about them and that I'd ruined a relationship over my mother's laziness and selfishness."

"And he had no fault, at all?" asked Will with a smirk, happy that this Richard bozo was out of the picture.

"He had faults enough," she replied. "It was quite a while before I stopped blaming myself for our breakup and realized that we weren't really destined for each other."

"And you believe in destiny?"

She looked up and took in a breath. "I do right now."

"You didn't have to do that," he said suddenly, folding his hand over hers. "You didn't have to go to Mr. Gardiner."

"I did," she replied. "No kid should have to worry about being taken away from her family. Your sister deserves so much more than that . . . I hope you never have to feel like you're inadequate or a rotten brother . . . however Catherine must've made you feel."

"I do feel very inadequate at times," he said with a smile. "But I never felt like a bad brother."

"Good," she smiled. "Billy got fired and I think Catherine's got some awfully tough questions to answer."

"You saved us, you know," he said, not bothering to hide his admiration. "I'm sure it came at some cost to your dignity – I don't suppose telling on a co-worker sheds a very good light on you, no matter how much he deserved it."

"Oh," she demurred, "don't worry about me. As much as I value the respect of my co-workers, I was only thinking of you."

Her answer caught him off guard. "Me?"

She blushed and looked away. "I remember the way you looked when your sister came into the ER," she whispered. "I remember how irritated you were with her, and then how you comforted her. When she pleaded with me not to call social services somehow I just knew, almost on instinct, that you were struggling with Cat. I told Wick I wasn't going to help him out because I thought it was just wrong to deceive people, no matter the reason. When I met you . . . I mean, you aren't any older than I am, and you're trying to raise a teenager, and all you get is flack for it. I had to help."

"I'm not doing anything anyone else in my position wouldn't do," he said modestly. "George has a smart mouth and does stupid things sometimes, but she studies hard and wants things in life. That makes it easier."

In the pause that followed, their eyes locked for a long moment. As the quiet between them stretched, Will moistened his lips and Lizzy smirked a little. Without either one realizing that it was happening, their hands entwined and their legs embraced. Around them, the little coffee shop continued on as it always had; as if what was passing between Will and Lizzy was inconsequential. The door opened and closed, the milk steamed, the cash register sang, and the coffee brewed, just as it always had. But something monumental was happening to the couple that sat in the darkest, farthest corner of that space, and they both knew it.

"Will," she whispered, almost afraid to break the silence, "would you walk me home? It's getting late, even for me."

His smile widened. "Let me make sure George is okay," he whispered, pulling out his cell phone. "She's staying at a friend's house tonight . . ." Here he paused, and leaned closer to her. He could feel her warm coffee-scented breath as she exhaled, and only wanted to get closer. "I'm kind of glad."

Lizzy blushed bright red and looked away. As soon as he ended his conversation with his sister he smiled and stood to take her arm and escort her down the windy street.

When Lizzy woke in the morning it was with a pair of warm, full lips on hers. She opened her eyes to find Will's gazing intently at her. She smiled; he smiled back. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and rough. "I couldn't help it."

"Don't apologize," she whispered. "I liked it."

Will wrapped his arms around her again and tucked her head back onto his chest. They had slept, fully clothed, on her couch, face to face and wrapped up with a heavy handmade quilt. It had not been their intention to do this, but when they arrived at her small basement apartment it was barely sixty degrees inside. Lizzy knew there had been problems with the furnace and decided to wait until the morning to ask the professor about it. She remembered bringing out her quilt and sitting on the couch with Will to try to warm up, but that was her last memory of the evening.

"I wish I could remember falling asleep like this," she said.

"I hope you don't mind that I stayed," he replied. "You put your head on my chest and fell asleep almost instantly. I was so comfortable that I laid down with you. Your quilt is nice and warm."

"I don't mind at all," she whispered. "Made for a wonderful awakening."

"Can I kiss you again?"

"As long as you don't mind my morning breath."

For reply, Will inclined his head just enough for his lips to reach hers, and with them, he kissed her so thoroughly and so soundly as to leave her with little doubt as to whether he cared. "You don't have morning breath," he rumbled when he pulled away slightly.

When she was able to open her eyes, she gazed into his and caressed his face with her hand. "Do you think it's odd?" she asked. "How right it feels to be here?"

"I'm not thinking about odd right now, Lizzy." To prove it, he kissed her lovely mouth again, slipping his lips down to her chin to nibble it while she sighed contentedly.

"You and I have not spent a total of twenty-four hours in each others' presence," she whispered. It was all she was capable of.

"I told you everything about myself last night," he murmured, rolling her underneath him.

"You told me your history," she countered as he began to kiss her neck. "Not much about yourself – your likes and dislikes . . . and . . . your . . ."

"I like you," he said. "I like this spot on your neck." He nuzzled there, and then continued, his nose barely an inch from hers and in his eyes, a soft but earnest expression. "I like coffee, but I prefer tea; I hate ketchup; I think most action movies are complete shit; drunk people piss me off; I love living on campus, and I absolutely adore tater tot hot dish." He paused to swallow and smile at her. "Is that enough?"

"Just one more thing," she said, biting her lower lip.

"What's that?"

"Do you fish?"

"No."

"Hunt?"

"George would kill me if I did, and that's two."

"We can be friends, then," she said with a saucy smile.

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but I have your bra unhooked and the drawstring of your pants loosened, so that's probably a good thing."

Lizzy smiled and him and pulled his head back down to hers. "I sincerely hope you don't plan on stopping there."

Later on, when the sun had risen and the air outside was crisp, clear, and chirping with the song of winter blackbirds, Lizzy and Will woke again. They had moved from the narrow confines of the couch to her bed, where Will had taken every opportunity to stretch out and explore her every curve. Sated, they wrapped themselves up in the quilt again, savoring the skin-on-skin feeling of safety and comfort. Even exhausted, they continued caressing each other, he with long, slow strokes with fingertips up and down her back, and she with her smooth, slender legs, winding them in and out of his.

"You should call George," she whispered quietly.

"Yeah," he replied slowly, a smile creeping across his face. He propped his head up with his hand and kissed her lips gently. She pulled away and reached across him to her night table and handed him the phone. He dialed. "Hey, George," he greeted, his voice deep and rumbly.

"Will, where the hell are you?"

"Um . . . George . . . I'm at Lizzy's."

George paused. "You are?"

"Yeah." Will looked at Lizzy, who was amused to find him blushing with a slightly embarrassed look on his face.

For her part, Georgiana was surprised to hear her brother admit, though not in many words, what he had been doing the past twelve hours. "Well. Did you have a good time?"

"_Geooorge_," he chided, drawing his hand over his eyes. She giggled; Lizzy rolled over onto her stomach and propped her head up under her chin on her folded hands, smiling at his discomfiture. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Will," George replied. "It's about damn time you found a real woman."

Will paused a moment. "Do you like her?"

"I think it's more important that you like her," she said, "but yes, I do like her. Well, except for her profession. But I guess that's a give-to-get kind of a thing."

He smiled. "Good," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I'll be home soon."

"Bring some food. I'm starved."

"All right. Bye." Will clicked the phone off and handed it back to Lizzy. "I need to go grocery shopping. You wanna come with?"

She giggled. "Sure," she replied. "So, does she like me?"

Will rolled onto his side and laid his hand against her cheek. "Yes," he replied. "I think you'll be good for her."

"Yes, I'll be fantastic. I don't eat my vegetables, I almost never read, and I bend easily to my mother's will."

Will rolled on top of her. "Elizabeth," he said gently. She looked up at him and bit her lip. "That is your name, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"Listen to me. George hates vegetables anyway, she's a bookworm anyway, and I will help you with whatever issues you have with your mom. You'll be good for George because she needs a woman around. I mean, I do what I can, but I'm not a girl."

Her eyes watery, Lizzy smiled at him. "Lucky thing for me." Will kissed her then, wrapping his legs around hers.

"Why do I get the feeling this is the start of something very special?" he asked huskily when he pulled away.

"It's more than special," she said, pulling his head back down to her lips. "It's extraordinary."

On the occasion of their second wedding anniversary, Will waited for his wife in the small lobby at the shop. It was three o'clock in the morning and she was about to meet him there after finishing her shift at the hospital.

She greeted him with a kiss at the top of the stairs. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah," she replied, taking off her sweater. "Are you?"

"I'm set," he confirmed with a grin. "Take off your shirt."

"You're awfully excited about this," she remarked as she followed him into his workroom. Still dressed in her uniform, she yanked her top off. He smiled appreciatively.

"Those are so nice," he remarked, openly admiring her breasts, which were clad in a bright red brazier that she had purchased especially for this occasion. "Pull down your pants."

"Do you talk to all your clients this way?" she inquired saucily, tugging on the waist of her uniform pants.

"Just you, baby. Drop 'em. You don't have to go down that far."

She did as he asked, and then sat on a stool and leaned over another chair as he prepared himself.

Lizzy sucked in her breath and willed her body to stay still. "Just remember to breathe, Lizzy; you'll do fine. It's not that big."

He paused before sitting down on his stool, pushing his chest fully into her back and grazing her neck with his lips. "How is Joey?" he asked as he slowly kissed her throat.

Lizzy cleared her throat and closed her eyes, turning her cheek toward his voice. "He's asleep," she reported. "Auntie George said he was an angel."

"I'm glad," he replied. She lifted her eyes to his and two pairs of full lips caressed each other. "Now, are you really ready?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Will smiled. "It'll only hurt at first; I promise." He pulled away.

A few moments later, she heard whirring and braced herself. "You know what a triskel is," he began softly.

"Yes," she replied, her voice a whisper.

He paused and she felt the initial shock of the needle. At first, it was an intense burning – it could be called pain – and after a moment or two, as long as he didn't leave the needle in contact with her skin for too long, she was numb to the sensation, and by the time he started talking again, all she really felt was irritation, as if she was being continuously poked by a needle – which she was.

"I like triskels," he said, feeling the need to say something.

"I hadn't noticed," she replied dryly. "Were the collective forty-six of them tattooed around your arms supposed to tip me off?"

He lifted the needle from her back to pinch her upper arm lightly. She giggled; he paused again to concentrate on his work. Lizzy's tattoo was only about four inches square and not complex at all, but he was always a perfectionist, whatever he did. Also, he had several ideas to complicate the design and add to it; for that to happen, she had to like it to begin with.

"Triskels, as you know," he continued, diligently working, "can be played with, design-wise. Most motifs, I guess, can be played with, but triskels have been around so long and are so symbolic that you can change it almost any way you want; as long as it's still recognizable as a triskel, it's a triskel. One of the most ancient forms of the triskel, found carved on a wall inside the Neolithic Newgrange Tomb in Ireland, is a triple spiral composed of a single unending line. It's absolutely fascinating; it's my favorite triskel, and it's the first one I ever saw – you know, a picture of it."

"Are you putting a triskel on my back?"

Will smiled at her uneasy tone. "You'll like it. It's not complicated and it's not big." He swallowed and returned to his work, smiling as he finished. As he cleaned off her back and spread Bacitracin over the tattoo, he smiled, announced that it was complete, and that he hoped she liked it. He spun her around on the stool, her back facing a full-length mirror that hung on the wall, and handed her a hand mirror. He helped her position it so she could see his work.

She smiled. "Oh," she whispered. "I like it, Will." She leaned over and kissed him. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Oh, don't thank me," he replied. "If I really get my way there'll be a lot more ink on your back than that."

She giggled and looked at her tattoo again. "What else would you do?" she asked.

He positioned himself on his own stool and faced her, his hands dancing over her lower back as he described what was in his head. "I would put two more on either side so it'd be like my arm bands," he began. "I would put vines around it – some nice green there. Then I'd draw more vines and go out, like this," he traced his index fingers from the edges of her triskel, up a little, and back down and out. "Very delicate. I'd put three flowers – one here," he touched her right hip, "and one here," he touched her left hip, "and one middle under the triskel. One for you, one for me, and one for Joe, in the color of our birth stones."

She smiled at his enthusiasm for his craft and his family and kissed him. "So instead of sea, sky, and earth, or speed, strength, and agility, my triskel could mean Will, Lizzy, and Joey?"

"Right," he smiled, taking her free hand in his. "Actually, I had thought that for us, it could mean our past, our present, and our future, if you didn't want anything more."

She smiled and teared up at his gift. "How about you, me, and us?" she asked softly. "It seems more fitting for a wedding anniversary gift."

Will smiled. "As you wish," he replied, and their lips met again.

(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson


End file.
